Step Into My Office, Baby
by TomatoBomb
Summary: House deviously rids the hospital of Vogler and Cuddy thinks that's hot. Plus drugs, sex, and courting of the legal and notsolegal sorts! [HouseCuddy] WIP CH. 5 A Small Respite NEW!
1. Secret Conversation

**STEP INTO MY OFFICE, BABY  
**by Mickie; 05.04.09

CHAPTER I: Secret Conversation

-

The sticky feel of the doorknob only served to reaffirm House's inductive belief that all clinic patients are stupid and unaware of a syndrome known as the common cold, instead running to a doctor after countless hours of hunting through mountains of mucus with a toy microscope temporarily borrowed from their wide-eyed three-year-old and finding a slight abnormality that actually is a piece of dust. Dr. Gregory House was not in the mood to discuss mucus with impatient patients. Reflecting for half a second, he realized he never truly was in the mood but decided he was especially not today, hence the opening and subsequent closing of the door to Exam Room One. Once inside the small, grey room he envisioned a paradise: relative quietness, a comfortable chair and no other human beings in sight.

"We're alone at last," House muttered seductively under his breath as he leaned on the ever-present cane with his right hand, pulling out a Gameboy from his jacket pocket with his left. No mucus could ever stand between him and Metroid.

His tranquil state was interrupted by the soft screeching of that damn sticky doorknob as it turned in another's hand, one that most likely regretted touching the disgusting item. As if summoned by her own hospital's malady of sanitation, Dr. Lisa Cuddy walked nonchalantly into the exam room, closed the door, distractedly rubbed the palm of her hand on her skirt and with that exasperated expression she puts on, stared at House. He only looked up to meet her gaze when he lost the game.

"I paged you for a booty call twenty minutes ago, what took you so long?" House quipped at her as she walked over to the patient chair he was sitting in, their positions opposite and height now matching, her hips inches away from his knees. She was too close to ignore now but if he pretended to look at the Gameboy screen from just the right angle, he could almost see down her shirt...

"I know what you did," Cuddy had a small smile, one of secret glee that she never showed the board members and her eyes too bright for the treatment of anyone else. He enjoyed these conversations when she looked as if she might like him, if only a little.

"I'm sure everyone knows by now," he replied.

"No one knows," she shot back immediately, the smile widening.

House gave up on the Gameboy-shirt strategy, opting instead to take in this rare side of his boss. She could barely contain her ecstatic delight, despite the calm face, and he couldn't help but share her little smile – she was the only person who could do that to him, change him. "Well?" he asked.

"Well what?" Cuddy raised her eyebrows and looked away.

"Now you're just being coy with me. Well," he stressed this, "do you approve of my methods?"

"As moths approve of mothballs," Cuddy returned. House feigned a pondering stance – a tilted head, a hand on his jaw – and opened his mouth for the escape of another wisecrack before Cuddy amended her statement, "but I love it all the same."

Her words were an echo inside his head though he'd never admit it to anyone, including himself. Oh, yes, he'd already begun dividing his brain long ago into Rational House and Irrational House. It worked amazingly well under normal circumstances but the combination of her amendment, proximity and cordial expression was too much for his well-defined inner lines. He smiled which seemed to surprise her. It surprised him, too.

"I especially loved the execution," she leaned in to add this, her eyes more brilliant than the mushroom cloud of a nuclear explosion and her tone infinitely more conspiratorial.

In retrospect, it seemed fitting to House that his pager was to start beeping moments after this. At the moment, he cursed the blasted device. Cuddy's hypnotic hold over him was broken and she took a step back and collected herself, seeming to re-enter reality, their secret conversation over. House reached for the annoying piece of technology on his belt and mentally noted Cuddy's strange behaviour at the moment. She retracted from him like blood rushing from the heart at breakneck speed, becoming almost mousy. It was unusual. Filing this away for processing by Rational House later, he dropped a corner of his smile and sighed at the message: a clinic patient with some mysterious malady. _Thank you, Wilson, thank you so much,_ House thought, his sarcastic voice ringing in his mind. He looked up and began to put the pager away but paused, only then noticing Cuddy's Houdini tribute – where she used to be was a canister of cotton swabs across the small room on the grey-blue desk. He filed this away with the other unusual attributes about her today for analysis later.

On his way to the exam room his newest patient was waiting in, House ran into Wilson who was without a doubt stalking him. House greeted him with a gruff nod and an annoyed expression Wilson had no point of reference for that day, not knowing of House's desire to remain in that small room with their beautiful boss but then again, neither did House.

"Hey, something's different today. I haven't seen Vogler marching around glaring at everyone yet," Wilson queried with great subtlety.

"Yes, our loving Chairman is absent today. Must have more important things to deal with than the day-to-day goings on of his latest business," House swept his arms around him, indicating the walls of the hospital's clinic hallway where they stood centered.

"When is he coming back?" Wilson had become inconspicuously suspicious of House's suspiciously conspicuous lack of suspicion.

"Oh, who knows these things?" he shrugged, "If you'll excuse me, I have a truly baffling subject for study in the next room." House, glad for the exit from the conversation, limped into Exam Room Three where a middle-aged man in a tracksuit and running shoes awaited him, clutching his calf in mild agony. Baffling.

--------tbc.

A/N: Please review if you liked it or didn't (constructive criticism would be appreciated) because I haven't written that much fic and would like to get better. Don't worry, you'll find out House's devious plot in the next chapter, I'm just teasing for now! Also, I may change the title later because… because. "Step into my Office, Baby" is a very House/Cuddy song by Belle & Sebastian.


	2. A Diagram of His Guilt

**STEP INTO MY OFFICE, BABY  
**by Mickie; 05.04.11

CHAPTER II: A Diagram of His Guilt

-

His desk was moderately organized, he noted, as he sat down in the chair and stretched out his sore leg while popping a Vicodin. It was four-thirty meaning he could go home in half an hour. The clinic exhausted him, not physically but mentally, though he wouldn't give Cuddy the satisfaction of knowing that. The cases in the clinic were mostly un-alarming and tedious but it was the constant contact with other human beings that got to him. After his leg infarction, he had spent six years in isolation before Cuddy had confronted him and forced him to catch up on his missed clinic hours.

He supposed she figured six years was recovery time enough. It wasn't. Most of the clinic patients didn't ask about his leg, cane and limp or didn't even look at him oddly, just accepting him for him, but the paranoid part of him deep inside thought they were asking, silently, and looking. Rational House told him they weren't and he was just looking for an excuse to continue to be in his self-imposed exile. Irrational House told him that everyone was mocking him and would secretly talk behind his back, only tolerating him in his presence out of pity. He tried to push his insecure thoughts away but it was too late now. Which House was right?

His temples began to throb, the beginning of what he classified as a 'too-much-thinking headache'. He scoffed softly when he realised he'd prefer the world's most obnoxious clinic patient to self-analysis. Cuddy would be proud. No, he wouldn't go to the clinic but he had to get out of his office, its silence and isolation lending itself too much to introspection. It was decided: he would eat pie.

Hospital cafeterias are not usually known for their fine cuisine, its patrons too distracted to care about taste, but House found that on Tuesdays the apple pie in the western-most shelf was edible if not sixty percent of the time delicious. Chance was on his side today as the pie was well within the sixty percent boundary, affording his stomach precedence over his body instead of that constantly mulling brain of his. It afforded fifteen minutes of precedence, anyway.

Luckily for House, he was so preoccupied with thinking up something new to do, unrelated to the clinic, to keep Irrational House at bay that the opportunity walked right up to him in mid-ponder.

"Hey, where have you been for the last hour?" Wilson met up with his friend near the reception desk and walked with him as House continued his journey down the hall to his office once again.

"In my office, then pie, then office," House summed up.

"Pie?"

"Tuesday."

"Oh, right."

House reached the swinging glass door to his office and almost had it open before Wilson stopped him, meaning to grab his arm but got the cane instead. "You've got to stop doing that, people are going to think we're involved," House whispered conspiratorially. Wilson half-rolled his eyes, expecting this, and laughed despite himself.

"Cuddy wants to see you in her office. Something big is happening," Wilson informed.

"Big like penicillin or big like lawyers?" House inquired while popping a Vicodin.

"I'd guess the latter. I don't know what's going on but she's pacing back and forth so that can't be good. Remember the last time she did that? No more coffee breaks in the surgeon's lounge," Wilson replied.

"I remember. That woman can pace like nobody's business," House noted.

"Well, I think you should make it your business before you get fired," Wilson prodded.

"I'm going, I'm going! Damn you," House scowled and changed direction toward Cuddy's office. Wilson was pleased.

House pushed open the glass door to Cuddy's luxurious office to find her pacing and three men in dark suits and matching expressions perched on her couch. Cuddy was in mid-rant when he entered, stopping to look at him. She was attempting to glare at him scornfully but he could see the difference in her eyes. Vogler had been her sickness and now she was cured. He decided to play along for her sake.

"Dr. House, these are three of Vogler's lawyers – Sampson, Thompson and Venn," Cuddy pointed at each in turn, their expressions shifted slightly in greeting, an almost imperceptive smile of mere acknowledgment.

"Three of? What, does he have a whole team of them? Did they have a little game to pick who would come visit us? Oh, if there's seven of them, that would work out perfectly! They could each have their own little bed. Heigh-ho, heigh-ho…" House snarked.

"Dr. House, I assure you, we are all qualified to handle this case," Thompson said.

"Oh, that's too bad. I'd prefer the defense be inept, but that's just me," House replied, popping a Vicodin. He saw Cuddy attempting to control a small smile out of the corner of his eye. That made him glad for some reason.

"Dr. House, Vogler is suing us for defamation and wants his job back," Cuddy told him. This was moderately surprising to House; he had entertained the idea that Vogler may sue but never put much stock in it. He thought Vogler's ego would be above that. Interesting.

"And what does that have to do with little old me?" House shrugged and put on his best innocent face.

"Dr. House, we have evidence right here that implicates you as the sole party in this malicious attack on Mr. Vogler," Venn interjected matter-of-factly, holding up a wrinkled letter in a plastic bag that House indeed recognized.

"What is that, a diagram of my guilt? Oh, look, he is both guilty and handsome at the same time!" House mocked. Venn's grimace deepened. Again, Cuddy unsuccessfully tried to suppress a smile. House's heart felt a bit lighter for a second time in the last five minutes. _Stop it_, he ordered himself.

Cuddy sat down in the chair opposite the couch. "May I see that?" Venn handed her the bagged letter. It was actually a mini-poster, she noticed. She also noticed that it had a small puncture in the top centre, the perfect size for a thumbtack. With great dread, she turned over the paper to see the front, to make sure Vogler's lawyers really did have the so-called evidence. House fidgeted nearby. Even with all of her focus on control and knowing what to expect, Lisa Cuddy could not stop the burst of laughter rising in her as she saw House's handiwork once again. The black and white paper had a large photocopy of a large, greyish leech with a staff photo printout of Vogler's head pasted on top. Vogler's head had a large red circle around it, complete with horns. At the top left was a printout of her staff photo. A bold, red arrow linked her photo to the sentence written neatly at the top: "My boss is better than your boss". At the bottom was written, "Sincerely, Dr. House".

She turned to look up at House who was standing a few feet away from her chair and hadn't moved since he entered. House met her look and recognized her expression as the same one from earlier, in the exam room. She smiled at him and handed the poster back to Venn.

"Please read through this promptly and be expecting further notice of a pending trial date. Thank you for your time," Venn handed Cuddy the necessary legal documentation and the three lawyers got up and left the room, their exit down the hallway ominous, even some of the nurses stopped to look quizzicly in their departing direction.

"So, pie?" House suggested cheerfully as he turned back to Cuddy.

"Of course," Cuddy got up from her chair, straightened her skirt and rewarded House with another smile as she passed him on the way to the door. He smiled back, though she didn't see, and caught up with her in the hallway.

---------------tbc.

A/N: I had the best pie today in a university cafeteria. I was there to return books for my essays, but it called to me. We had met before. I didn't think it could be the same again but it was. Thank you, pie. Also, the whole Venn diagram thing was inspired by Eddie Izzard in "Dress to Kill". If you haven't seen it, you should. Yeah, so I was in a weird mood today, hence this chapter. Okay? Okay. Thanks for reading, I will try and update again soon.


	3. Midnight Interlude

**STEP INTO MY OFFICE, BABY  
**by Mickie; 05.10.18

CHAPTER III: Midnight Interlude

-

Two pieces of pie, a lovely view down Cuddy's shirt, making her laugh multiple times with only a few glares in return, no one died. House summed up his day as he lay in bed that night, satisfied with the results. On the other hand, he faced an upcoming trial where he would have to see Vogler again and no more good pie until next week. _You've got to take the good with the bad_, House mused as he popped another Vicodin. His bedroom was dark, the only light coming from between the blinds on his window. A light rain pattered on the glass. Rhythmically, like footsteps, like high heels: a familiar and soothing sound to him. He'd never say that out loud but at night, in the dark, in his head, it was different; acceptable.

Lying still, his eyes glanced around the darkened room, darting to shadows and contours, looking for scary monsters and such other beasts. Unconsciously, of course, consciously would be childish. He couldn't sleep so he found ways to occupy his imagination until his brain eventually overheated and shut down for the night. He didn't used to have to do that.

Sometimes, very late at night, he would think about patients. Not just his own, but his colleagues' as well. The ones that died, he thought about how the doctor took it. Was the death expected, shrugged off? Or was the doctor at fault, adding to the reservoir of guilt any doctor accumulated over time? He thought of his patients that had died because he wasn't quick enough at diagnosing them, because he screwed up the surgery, because of natural causes, because they wanted to die, and so on. Everyone would assume that Gregory House was too callous to let those memories haunt him, affect him. They wouldn't change him much, but he knew they did at least a little. He knew Cuddy took everything personally, locking away the insecure and painful feelings – guilt, compassion, helplessness – that came with the job: she was a perfectionist, always blaming herself for not re-inventing the wheel whereas House just wanted to fix the wheel. Night was the only time he thought about his mechanical failures with patients. He knew Cuddy thought about hers all the time. She was a better person than he.

But she couldn't be that much better than him if she had just as much trouble sleeping.

And she did. Women with clear consciences fall asleep easily, happily, with quiet brains humming dreams instead of nightmares. Lisa Cuddy didn't dream at all. She ran through her schedule for the next day in her mind, making sure to be mentally prepared for it all. She thought about paperwork that was due, trouble with her employees, legal issues, funding requirements, equipment acquisitions, board meetings, staff meetings, lunch meetings, tennis meetings, dinner meetings, and 'pie meetings'. She dubbed her Tuesday afternoon time with House as such, due to obvious reasons. It was not a scheduled affair. Somehow he found her, she found him, and somehow they went to the cafeteria and ate pie together. No talk of patients or paperwork, just pie. "This blueberry is by far superior to last week's offering", "My pair of banana nuts is better than yours" (that one was his), "Oh my god, rhubarb" (that one was hers). She smiled at her dark bedroom ceiling at the memories. There was nothing wrong with a little company now and then, was there?

House infuriates her on a daily basis. He is a challenge to manage as she never knows if he is really going to do as she tells him to, or if he will launch his own scheme, or not do anything at all. He is an unknown, a variable, always changing. He injects a dose of chaos into her planned, divided, sectioned off, and organized life of schedules and absolutes. Everyone asks why she hasn't fired him yet and she never answers with the full truth. Yes, he is an excellent diagnostician who is worth the occasional large legal bill, but more than that, she enjoys planning for and expecting his surprises. She enjoys when they aren't what she planned or expected.

Cuddy thought back to earlier, with Vogler's lawyers in her office and House's promotional wall art creation. He could be so immature sometimes but that is often the cure for the mature person's agonies. She admitted, the tongue-in-cheek comment stressing her superiority over Vogler made her heart swell a fraction and only a fraction, she told herself. House joked around, but he never said anything without meaning it at least a little. Sometimes his audacity was his unraveling. She hoped it wouldn't unravel her.

Ceilings are only looked upon by the lonely.

----------------tbc.

A/N: So this chapter's a little shorter, but I hope you like it anyway. Just a little reflection to get us back into the swing of things. Sorry it took me so long to update! I was pushed on by all the lovely and encouraging reviews I received – thank you so much! I know this story is a little outdated now, what with Vogler and all, but… SO WHAT. So, there. Anyway, thanks again for those reviews and keep 'em coming:D


	4. Science of Your Mind

**STEP INTO MY OFFICE, BABY  
**by Mickie; 05.10.29

CHAPTER IV: Science of Your Mind

-

Cuddy watched the elevator doors slide open slowly, revealing Gregory House on the other side. She flashed him a big, closed-mouth smile as she entered the elevator – the kind she only used for him; an authoritative alternative to an audible greeting. She stood next to him and saw the floor she wanted was already lit up on the panel.

"Ooh, quick, where's the emergency stop button so we can have hot, kinky elevator sex!" House yelled loudly just before the elevator doors slid closed, locking away the hubbub of the busy hospital hallway.

"And you wonder why everyone thinks we've slept together?" Cuddy rolled her eyes, which were loosely focused on some papers she had in a file in her hands.

"No, really, where is it? You know, in case of fire or something," House playfully studied the panel on Cuddy's side of the elevator.

"There's only one thing that's burning up in here," she teased.

"I know you want me," House replied softly, sardonically, his eyes looking at the ceiling self-assuredly.

They rode up the remaining few floors in a comfortable silence. House would never admit that spending time with Cuddy could be considered comfortable, but there it was. They had known each other for a long time, used to be close friends. They had drifted apart since she became his boss, since Stacy had come along all those years ago, since the infarction… especially since the infarction. But there were moments when it felt like old times, when they were speaking cordially, teasing but never cruel, or just existing in the same space together. It was nice. Cuddy had mourned the loss of their friendship, and still did. With House, she didn't have to pretend to be someone different, he knew her too well for her to trick him and she didn't feel that she had to anyway. She skimmed through the file in front of her, not really concentrating, knowing she would have to re-read it in her office in a few minutes.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened. They both exited, heading in opposite directions. Cuddy stopped in the hall and looked at House. "Dr. House, the clinic is this way," she said patronizingly, like one would remind a child.

"Thanks for the info," House said over his shoulder and continued going his way.

"You are going to do your two hours today in the clinic, aren't you?" she prodded.

"Yes, yes, but a man needs sustenance first," House pulled his empty Vicodin bottle out of his jacket pocket and held it up before turning back down the hall. Cuddy's eyes flew to the signs on the wall – the pharmacy was that way. She sighed, fighting a sudden shot of guilt but remaining gloomy, and continued on her way to her office.

With a striking thought, Cuddy passed by the nurses station to collect her mail. There was probably something important in the hearty stack that had arrived fresh that morning. She hoped, as she did everyday, that every letter was an offer from a potential donor or sponsor but she knew that wasn't the case; she was lucky if one letter a week was along those lines. Bills, legal documentation, price quotes, supply memos, interoffice communication, legal bills, legal quotes, legal memos, legal communication… _Stacy had been useful for more than keeping Greg House occupied during her term at Princeton-Plainsboro_, Cuddy thought to herself as she glanced through her mail. The hospital had a legal department, a team of highly-trained, highly-schooled, highly-conservative lawyers, chomping at the bit to tackle the hospital's many cases, the more outlandish ones brought on by House, of course. "He was so callous but he saved me", "he treated me with drugs without my knowledge", "he with-held my prescription to test a theory"… _but they all lived to write about it_, Cuddy half-smiled, her gaze low on the floor as she walked the rest of the way to her office, closing the glass door behind her as if it were a shield to keep the rest of the world at bay.

----------------

"I'm sorry, Dr. House, but there is a hold on your prescription – I can't refill it," the young pharmacist said, glancing up from his computer screen, eyes wide and scared, though trying hard not to be.

House was stunned. "What- how- who put the hold on?"

"Dr. Cuddy did first thing this morning," the young man replied, with conviction.

"Really," It was not a question. "Well, okay, thanks, be seein' ya."

The young pharmacist visibly relaxed, but was worried that House's retreating form would suddenly turn around and smack him with his cane. He watched as House disappeared from sight down the hall, blending into the steady traffic of the hallway.

----------------

"Cuddy did what?"

"She cut me loose, threw me to the dogs, left me in the dust," House reiterated.

"I can't believe she would do that, especially on such short notice. As far as I knew, everything was normal, or what passes for normal around here," Wilson ran a hand over his face, surprised and sympathetic to his friend.

"I need you to write me a script," House stared at the floor of Wilson's office between his shoes.

"You thinking of going Hollywood on us?"

"Ha-ha, you know what I mean," House absently twirled his cane in his right hand, his gaze unmoving.

"I don't think it's a good idea for you to have a full prescription right now," Wilson eyed House's dejected form warily.

"Then just give me a few to get by," House finally looked Wilson in the eye. He would not plead.

Wilson sighed and closed his eyes. It was unethical, he knew.

"Here's some paper," House tossed the prescription pad at Wilson, who caught it, "Writey, writey." House mimed the action.

----------------

Just as Cuddy finished opening, reading, considering, and responding to her mail, her secretary knocked on the door and delivered a memo. It was from the pharmacy: House had tried twice to renew his Vicodin, and twice was denied. It was what she had wanted to hear but she was not happy to hear it. She suspected he had a few hidden away in hiding places, for 'just in case' times, but they wouldn't last him very long. Part of her wanted to give in, give him what he wanted, if only to keep him from further pain, more pain than he had to feel, thanks to modern medicine… thanks to her. But she had to be strong, she had to do what was best for the hospital and for him, ultimately, though he had never realized that's what she had done on so many occasions before. She hoped he would forgive her when it was all over. The last thing she needed from him was more resentment.

She rested her chin in her hands and let the memo fall on her desk unceremoniously.Cuddy thanked her secretary for the memo and instructed her not to let House through to see her if he came by. She knew it was pointless, he would push his way past anyway, but she also knew that he wouldn't crawl back to her for a little while yet; his pride would not allow it. It provided her a small respite before the storm she knew would be a fierce one.

----------------tbc.

A/N: We'll get to court soon enough, shush! I'm trying to be all clever-like and weave different plotlines together into a big, mushy string of logic and angsty hotness, okay? Let me know how I'm doing so far. Thanks again for the reviews on the last chapter; they really push me on (or not). :D


	5. A Small Respite

**STEP INTO MY OFFICE, BABY  
**by Mickie; 06.04.14

CHAPTER V: A Small Respite

-

It was Tuesday again and Wilson hadn't seen House come out of his office all day. Whenever he passed by, he would see House either sitting and staring at the wall or writing something, obviously putting a lot of thought into whatever it was. It was strange behaviour for House who would usually be hiding in the clinic to avoid doing clinic duty, not hiding in his office in plain sight. Wilson supposed House wasn't thinking clearly.

And he wasn't – the realization that his prescription had been cut off at the source hitting him fully. The days since the realization all seemed to blend together into one mass of endless time and behind his eyes, the colours of fatigue and the slow-motion dizziness would set in until he blinked and then everything was fine for awhile. _Fine_, he thought, _yes, that was fine_.

But House could only stay cooped up in his office alone for so long before it grated on his nerves, and his leg. He had to get out for a bit. He thought about where he could go – somewhere that didn't involve seeing patients and didn't allow the possibility of Cuddy finding him. The two prerequisites seemed mutually exclusive. Cuddy knew every inch of the hospital and was in those inches everyday. Nothing escaped her micromanagement. Following this line of thinking, House soon reached a delicious compromise. He would see a patient in order to avoid Cuddy, as long as the patient couldn't see him.

And mere minutes later, House was comfortably seated in one of those big, luxurious armchairs placed in one of what House called the "VIP rooms". These were rooms where patients stayed for long stretches and it was expected that family would visit and they needed something soft to sit in, to wait for their loved ones to regain consciousness, or regain use of their limbs, whatever the case. Luckily for House, this particular patient's room was always empty, save for the middle-aged man in the hospital bed, lying oblivious to his surroundings, blissfully asleep with the distinct possibility of staying that way. The paper pushers hadn't gotten around to his case yet – to pull the plug or not to pull the plug. Would he wake up? Probably not, any doctor would say. With no family to make the decision, it would be turned over to the board. They would debate over his life while he slept on. Though, House suspected this would take several more weeks. More pressing matters existed at the moment, thanks to him. Legal trouble always trumped oblivious patient trouble. Not that this man was any trouble; House was actually somewhat, begrudgingly grateful to the nameless patient for creating this sanctuary, a room free of scrutiny by outsiders and therefore, of Cuddy.

As House lounged in the blue chair against the far wall of the room, he absently massaged his injured leg and searched with his eyes for any signs of a television nearby. Of course, in a clean room, there wouldn't be one. House was proud of himself on this one – he had picked the coma patient who also had severe allergies to just about everything and therefore had to be confined to a clean room. House had no idea how the upholstered chair he sat on was kept allergen-free, but didn't care to find out. He supposed the hospital staff would remove it if it disturbed the patient, which it hadn't. Yes, this room was perfect. Even having to wash his hands vigorously and don the required "last-minute Halloween costume" attire and mask, it was still worth it, if only to be allowed to think in relative quiet. He imagined a coma must feel like that. Not that he remembered such bliss from his one and only.

House thought about how much time he had left. Not on this world or plane of existence or philosophical crap like that, but how much pain-manageable time remained. True, he had a few more Vicodin saved up at home, but that would only last a few days at most. Right now, he was content, his leg dulled by the latest dose. But soon it would start, like before, he knew. Soon his brain would get fuzzy from the distraction, the constant nagging of the pain, which would only get stronger as time went on until it became unbearable and his brain had to be diverted from thinking of it. He didn't want it to get to that point again.

So here he sat, drawing up diabolical plans to get a new prescription. So far, he hadn't come up with anything worthwhile, save for storming the pharmacy with an AK-47 and taking all stock of the bittersweet substance, hoarding it in his office like a squirrel hoards nuts or King K. Rool in Donkey Kong 64 hoards golden bananas. Of course, there were several flaws in this draft – the requirement of an AK-47, for one, and the impending legal trouble for the second. The board would not be happy about that.

Time seemed to float by. After an hour or two, House was bored by his own mind and pulled out his GameBoy, though the wheels were still turning with every level he advanced. He knew he had to think of something before the fuzziness set in. He had thought of alternative painkillers, but he had tried those before, it was all the same. He needed Vicodin. He was not addicted, he had a condition. This was true. Why couldn't anyone else see that? _Cuddy most of all should see that_, he thought, _she should know more than anyone_. But it appeared she didn't, and it was up to him to get himself out of this pickle.

Oh, blast. Pickles. He was hungry.

House decided his stomach could suffer for a few hours if it allowed his brain more time to think. If he didn't think of something soon, his gastro-intestinal desires would be the least of his concerns.

Having grown accustomed to the quiet room, the sounds of it had faded to the distance: a distant, quiet beep of the patient's heart monitor, the distant and indistinguishable chatter outside the closed glass door and the muffled foot traffic that accompanied it. Even his own shifting positions and breathing did not register to his ears anymore. This is why he was surprised.

"Well, there you are! Of course, where else would you be? Anywhere that required work or seeing patients? Certainly not for Greg House, doctor and generally Very Important Person!" Cuddy let out in a rush as she burst into the room, sliding the glass door with strength, though limited by her puffy white anti-allergen suit. She was stepping ever-forward to where House sat across the room.

He looked up at her in momentary surprise before glancing back down, at the floor rather than his GameBoy this time.

"What?" Cuddy began again in a softer tone, seemingly tired, "Do you need time to think about things? You could have just said so, you know." He did not reply. "There are other options out there. There are other medications that are less addictive, less-"

"There is nothing else!" House finally spoke, not as loud as his eyes became. "Don't you think I would have switched to something else long ago if they did any good?"

"It could take a combination of different things. A less powerful painkiller and physical therapy, maybe. You won't know unless you try," Cuddy argued.

"I don't want to try. You want me to try." House said quietly, almost grumbling. "Why now? Do you want one last chance at fixing me before I self-destruct completely? Well, I'm sorry, but you may have missed the boat on that one, dear Cuddy… among other things."

"I don't want to fix you. I don't want you to be fixed, in the sense of the word. I don't care if you stay miserable, you always were in one way or another anyway," she allowed a small, reminiscent smile then, "I just want what's best for you, as any doctor would want for her patient." Cuddy was standing directly in front of him now and did not have to speak loudly anymore. She caught his gaze when it finally shifted up from her chest, which even the scrub suit didn't conceal.

"You consider me your patient again?" House asked.

"I never stopped considering you," she replied and her expression was unreadable.

House looked down again, at his hands this time. He didn't know quite why, but he did not feel himself at this moment. He knew he should have been angry with Cuddy for this trick of hers, practically destroying the constant his life depended on, but he felt nothing. Nothing at all. It was almost like he was not real. He figured it was from the length of time spent isolated in this room with a slumbering coma patient, focused only on his own morbid thoughts.

"Hey, I'm not going to leave you in the lurch, House. I don't want you to suffer," Cuddy reassured softly without looking him in the eye. His head was turned to the floor even if she had wanted to. She resisted touching his shoulder, or running a hand through his hair, and all of the other things she felt compelled to console him with.

"Well, I am. I haven't eaten in… a long time. If you're telling the truth, you can buy me lunch, or dinner, or whatever meal is appropriate for whatever the hell time it is," he mumbled at the floor. This was his begrudging way of accepting her motive, which he did on faith at the moment, without really thinking about it. He didn't know why he did, but he believed her, at least for now.

"Very well. And I will even treat you to dessert," Cuddy's soft voice sounded like it used to, before the infarction, he noted.

House looked up at her then, a small but flirtacious grin forming, "Why, Dr. Cuddy, you minx, this is supposed to be a clean room."

**----------------tbc.**

A/N: Okay! I totally stole the clean room idea from "Safe", with the girl with the ten million allergies and whatnot, but it works so shhh. AND I FINALLY WROTE ANOTHER CHAPTER, THANK YOU. It really is because of all the nice reviews you've written me, otherwise I would not bother to continue, so thank you, fo sho. Oh, and this chapter was inspired by the amazingly hot Yellow Scrubs Sex Scene from "All In". You know what I'm talkin' 'bout.

So the legal stuff will happen later, I am just trying to remember what the hell I was thinking about when I started this fic like LAST YEAR. Anyway, that's why this chapter doesn't really have any substance. As for "dessert" (ahem), we may see that later on. Heh.

Thanks again for all the great reviews - and I hope you continue to like this fic!


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